Revelations
by laisvega
Summary: Pansmione drabble, based on shopping challenge. Same as the one posted on tumblr. I do not own the cover image.


_**Genre:** Fluff  
_ _ **Setting:** Store  
_ _Couple is shopping for an item (grocery, clothing, whatever)  
_ _ **Use sentence:** "What are you supposed to do with _ this _?"  
_ _ **Word count:** Min. 50 words  
_ _ **Assigned pairing:** Pansy Parkinson/Hermione Granger_

* * *

It was too soon. Too bloody soon for what the insufferable Gryffindor had in mind. Granted, ten years was indeed a long time. Prejudice was less evident—at least to some smart ones. Being fined for even whispering a slur had become a thing after authorities realised what that blasted Dark Lord had done with his name was actually genius.

She'd learned to cope with it, after losing more Galleons than what her pride would allow, donating one of the Parkinson's estates as a War Orphans Home, being subjected to incessant verbal, on occasion physical, harassment on the streets, and forced 'community service' with that know-it-all-Miss-Perfection Hermione Granger.

How that bushy haired lass made it, almost, unscathed was admirable. And Pansy loathed to admit she admired a stupid Gryffindor.

That girl with her plain chocolate eyes that screamed kindness, but hid a fierceness in that mixed golden that Pansy's greys certainly lacked. With that untameable hair of hers that all she wanted was to touch—because honestly, straight hair was just dull. With that pear-like shape of her body that had all wizards turn, much unlike her skinny frame that had once been praised by Pure-blooded elite.

Aside from her knack for observation, the Slytherin Princess thought herself quite adept at masking social anxiety with practiced etiquette, but of course the witch noticed.

That Granger girl noticed each time Pansy flinched when a kid got too close to her. She noticed the slight tilting of her body to add more inches of personal space when someone spoke to her. Hermione noticed how she would bite the inside of her cheeks when conversation dragged too long. And that wretched bravery is what finally prompted the lass to approach one day after work and say:

"I understand."

Whatever anger that surged through Pansy at the audacity of a Mudblood to dare compare herself with her had ended in a loud bark—and a bottle of Firewhiskey back at home.

It had taken a year, a whole year for the dark haired witch to approach the little Lion. It had taken her that long to pluck up the courage, her preferred poison, a tight leather dress and low self-preservation.

Blasted Daphne's birthday party ended a trifle bit better after that. Who would've known that slime Weasley would select the same pub to celebrate his brother's Welcoming. Who indeed would've known that little-Miss-Perfect Hermione Granger could knock out three straight shots of Firewhiskey.

And who'd ever fathom a thought that one day Pansy Parkinson would shove away half the dancers when a drunken lad had gotten a tad hand-friendly with heavily intoxicated Granger, even with the audacity that characterised those of Red and Gold to put her arm around the girl's waist and drag her to a secluded room.

Fuck if the scent of vanilla and coconut had somehow ended up impregnated in her clothes and hair and dreams after that. By dearest Salazar how she forgot to breathe when those golden curls would brush against her face each time she crossed paths with Hermione in the corridors.

Once again Pansy had found that bravery of hers rude when the cursed witch sat at her table during lunch, and said, "Thank you. For that night. Would you like to grab some coffee tomorrow before work?"

Ten years later, Pansy found herself being dragged around what looked like some Machinery Muggle shop filled to the brim with bright silver, black, white, things.

"Hermione, where the hell did you drag me to?"

"It's a market." she said rolling her eyes after the thousandth time she heard the other witch sigh.

"I will ignore the slightly condescending tone just because you fetched me chocolate this morning," said Pansy halting her steps, making Hermione stumble due to their clasped hands. "But what are all those things?"

"Electrical appliances."

The dark haired witch bristled, "Would you quit it with the obnox—"

"Pansy, love," Hermione took a step towards her girlfriend, "Everything will turn out fine. My parents are just as nervous to meet you."

"I did not say I was nerv—"

She was cut off by a kiss.

"Relax, would you? We've been together for quite long and they know all about you—the good part," she laughed at the scowl on the grey-eyed witch. "Here, let me show you what these things are. For one, that's a microwave."

"May-crow—what?"

"Microwave. And this one's a mixer."

"What are you supposed to do with this?" frowned Pansy and the big bowl and pair of metal accessories.

Hermione rose an eyebrow at the less-than-brilliant inquiry, "Do you want me to—yes, sorry," she giggled at the growl that came out of the Slytherin, "Mum asked me to buy her a new one because the one she has decided to quit today. She's really excited to make a lemon pie for you."

Even after a decade of showers of love by the witch in front of her, years of cold life at the mercy of purebloods was still rampant within her. It still surprised her how much kindness she possessed, it left her breathless how other people would ever care about someone as damaged as Pansy Parkinson.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you, too."


End file.
